Charlieclan Challenge Book
by Shard the Gangster Kitty
Summary: All of my challenges for Charlieclan are saved here.
1. Challenge 1: Flaws

Ghostkit knew he was different than the rest of Thunderclan. Everyone made that evident. The other cats were skittish around him. No one talked to him; they tried their best to avoid him. And when they weren't hiding from him, they whispered to each other, speaking behind his back and sending him wary looks. To the rest of his clan, the young tom was just an outsider. To himself and the few who pitied him, he was just a poor, unfortunate kit.

Why did they hate him? Why did every cat whose gaze he met just cringe in fear at the sight of him? Ghostkit did nothing wrong, he believed. Was it because of his strange face? Was it because he wasn't born a clan cat, but taken in as a young rogue? He didn't know. No one answered his questions. No one gave him any closure as to why he was such a disgrace to his clan.

The worst part was that he had just turned nine moons now, and Nightstar still refused to name him as an apprentice, leaving the apprentice feeling worse than he had before every time the grey leader refused him his apprenticeship. Every time was with a new excuse, ending with him running away from Ghostkit.

So he just crouched at the edge of the clearing, watching as life went on in his clan as they punished him for no reason, hoping someone, _anyone,_ would just come talk to him, to show him the compassion very few have shown him in his young life. But no one came. They left him shivering in the cold of leafbare, let the rain drench his pelt without so much as a look of sympathy, and when he offered to help, he was hurriedly turned down.

Heck, Ghostkit wasn't even allowed near the fresh-kill pile until everyone else had eaten, leaving him to eat the driest and smallest piece of prey. And every time the young black and white tom looked at the meal, he couldn't help but sympathize with it. It too, seemed to be discarded by everyone else. They both suffered the fate of being left behind by the others. Yet he ate it, curled up, and repeated the same process the next day, such was his fate.

And he never fought against it. He just let them treat him like some scraps of moss stuck to their claws. He let them throw him away, to not look back at him. Ghostkit had accepted this way of life long ago, though he never fully realized why until some days in the future.

The black and white tom knew that he had a horrid face; something others thought had come from their nightmares. He was mainly white, with black fur outlining every single bone in his face, making his head look like skull. His eyes were the color of blood, a crimson red with dark black pupils. Ghostkit was so malnourished that his ribs and bones stuck out of his thin layer of fur, his skin bedraggled. He shambled along the edges of camp, looking like death itself.

And one day, while he was heading towards the Nursery, wondering if one of the kits would maybe look past his face to warm up to him, see what kind of a cat he really was, he learned the truth. Their mother, a snow white she-cat with blue eyes, suddenly rounded on him, baring her teeth madly.

"Don't you dare come near my kits!" She shouted at him, taking a swipe at Ghostkit, who was barely able to stumble back and evade it. "You were a mistake to bring into the clan! Stormstar should never have thought that keeping you in sight would keep us safe! You'll be the death of this clan unless you're dealt with properly." She lifted her chin, her blue gaze piercing his red one icily. "My mate will finally end this once and for all, you can be sure of that."

Her words echoed in the tom's ears, horror echoing on his face before she lunged at him. Heart pounding, the skinny tom scrabbled out of her reach, racing from the Nursery with his tail between his legs. Never again did he go into the Thunderclan nursery, and forever avoided Whitestep.

True to his mate's word, Darkstorm appeared later in the night.

Ghostkit, who had been too scared of her words to get a wink of sleep, had thankfully been awake and shivering in the darkness. That was when the dark grey and black tom had arrived, his yellow eyes glowing with the promise of a threat.

Without so much as a word, the Thunderclan deputy launched himself at the quivering kit, snarls and yowls of pain ringing throughout the camp and echoing in the forest. But no one in the clan did anything about it. Most were glad the horrifying kit was finally being dealt with. They only sat in their dens and watched the show as if it were some form of sadistic entertainment.

Their show ended quite soon, though, when a third party came crashing through the camp entrance. And suddenly, Ghostkit was saved from his cruel punishment. Blood dripping from all of his wounds, he looked up to see a large brown tabby tom standing between him and Darkstorm, his teeth bared in a snarl of fury.

"This is what Thunderclan has fallen to?" He asked, contempt thick in his voice. "Everyone knew you were all just cruel, hopeless rogues. But none of us believed you would stoop so low to hurt an innocent kit."

Darkstorm lashed his tail at the tom now protecting Ghostkit. "You don't know what you're dealing with, Falconstar!" He snarled at the tom. This cat is destined to destroy whatever clan it resides in. Starclan told us that! We need to take care of the problem before it rises up and slaughters all of us!"

The attacking tom, Falconstar, didn't seem moved by his words at all. All around, his clan attacked Thunderclan, blood sprayed when claws scored across pelts, yowls of fury rang out, and hostility seemed to ring in the air. And Ghostkit could only hide in the shadows, watching the fight with eyes wide in terror, only the tabby leader bringing him back to the conversation.

"If that is so, then I should hope that he destroys this clan for good." Falconstar said, his voice seething. "Thunderclan doesn't deserve to prosper if it takes in cats only to treat them how you did." Without another word, or so much as a glance at Darkstorm, he spun around, instantly enveloping the cowering body with his amber gaze. Yet, unlike the cold and aloofness others gave him, it was filled with… warmth and pity?

Suddenly, he had picked Ghostkit up by his scruff, gently carrying him towards the now destroyed entrance. "Shadowclan, let's go!" He yowled out to his invading clan around the bundle of fur in his maws. Suddenly, the battle broke apart, cats fleeing from the fight and leaving Thunderclan weakened and defeated, carrying the kit with them.

In Shadowclan, he grew up, leading a better life than his previous one. He became an apprentice, then a warrior under the care of Falconstar, his mate, and their two kits who had become his best friends. And when he finally earned his name of Ghostwalker, he finally got his revenge against Thunderclan, fulfilling the prophecy that had caused him so much pain.

He all but destroyed it, leaving few cats alive when he killed most of them single-handedly. In a fight to the death against Darkstorm, one of the few survivors of his rage, his stomach was ripped open. In his last dying breath, he slashed across the deputy's face, forever leaving a scar there. Then, he died, leaving the black and grey tom to grieve for his dead family and clan.


	2. Chalenge 2: What Have I Done?

Troutfang raced at the red pelt of a fox, scoring his claws down on its body. Beside him, a much older black and white tuxedo tom helped to take turns on landing blows on the animal. Both of them were surrounded by an even larger battle between fox and cat, the latter slowly turning the tide and winning.

But inside, Troutfang didn't feel pride. He was slowly growing angry. He loved the tom beside him, Sootpelt, who had taken care of him and loved him like a son for his entire life. But his adoptive father didn't let him prove himself. The young white and grey tom felt the need to take down his foe by himself. His wish never came true though, as the other tom attacked the fox before it could try to land any blows on him.

How he just wished he could show Sootpelt and his adoptive mother, Floodstep, what a real fighter he was. What he could be. But the chance had never arisen until now, and he had jumped at the thought of it, even happy when the older tom had offered to join him. Having him see what Troutfang could do, to tell the tale of his greatness in battle; it had filled his heart with glee, as he had long awaited the chance to prove himself to them. He needed to show them just what he was made of.

Soon would he learn that when the chance had arisen, Troutfang really shouldn't have taken it.

Suddenly, Sootpelt had lunged at the fox's throat, grasping the skin and digging in with his teeth. The black and white tom tore at it, letting crimson red lifeblood flow from the killing wound. He fell back, landing beside Troutfang, and watched as the animal spun about, which caused the blood to come out even faster. Then it fell to the ground, twitching only once or twice, then lay still.

The white and grey tom stared at the fox, ignoring the suddenly ecstatic Sootpelt beside him, who was laughing and cheering about how he wasn't too old. Troutfang had worked so hard… He had wanted so badly to kill that fox, to be the best. And that opportunity had been yanked from him.

He looked around, seeing that all the other foxed were slowly being chased away by Riverclan. He had lost his chance. There was no way Sootpelt would see just how good he was.

Troutfang bared his teeth, his frustration welling up in his throat. This wasn't fair! His thoughts screamed at him in outrage, berating him for being too slow. A voice seemed to edge it on, increasing his anger until it was at a fever pitch.

Red suddenly clouded his vision, but Troutfang remembered suddenly seeing a moving black and white target. He figured it was a badger, and, he took his rage out on it. Maybe he could defeat it single-handedly? Then he would get his pride back? He easily leapt onto its back, biting down on it and digging his claws into its back. An opportunity popped up, when, suddenly, its throat and stomach came into view.

He took it, and attacked.

When the red was gone, and he had all but torn the animal apart, Troutfang finally got a look at the so-called "badger" below him. Horror contorted his face as he stumbled back from the remains of his father figure.

Paws shaking, he stared at the body, his ears flattening against his head. Horror, shame, anger, rage, they all swirled in him, each emotion fighting to break the surface. Yet he just stared at it, his face strangely impassive for the mixed emotions in his voice.

"What have I done?"


End file.
